


wake up, go home

by Voidromeda



Category: SK8 the Infinity (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Other, Spirits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 12:34:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29651397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voidromeda/pseuds/Voidromeda
Summary: There is a spirit in Langa's room, and it never seems to go away.
Relationships: Hasegawa Langa/Shindo Ainosuke | Adam
Comments: 11
Kudos: 34





	wake up, go home

There is a creature in this room, Langa realises. This isn’t all that surprising to the former snowboarder, all things considered – there is a creature in this room, this old, old room in an old, old house in old, old Okinawa. Perhaps Okinawa isn’t as old as Langa expects, but it still goes up there – so the thought settles itself. But there is something someone watching Langa while sleep takes over, or at the very least fails to. Nightmares of father’s death haunts their dreams, sinks in real deep, and keeps them from falling asleep properly as the time goes on.

And the sleeplessness is what allows for them to notice that there is a creature in the room. This is an old house, the very first their mother ever lives in, and still she has a grip on it – her family never really let go, and the pay for it is cheap anyway. There isn’t a lot of mortgage costs associated with this old house, in this old place. It’s still home.

But this home has something living in their room, in the room that their mother slept in when she was young, in the room that is now Langa’s. There is something here and they don’t know what to do to this creature that knows they are here, unable to sleep, eyes wide open and staring at the wall.

It whispers to them in the night when they cannot sleep, bursting wide awake from whatever horrors which plague their mind this time. It is a deep voice, soothing almost if not for the excited way it speaks, how eagerly its voice is close to their ear while it whispers it suggestions –

What it whispers are cold, a declaration to _forget._ Hands caress along their back, _“I will help you.”_ the thing promises and Langa often ignores it, pretends that they cannot feel those hands gripping at the back of their legs only to let go when the thing is ignored. Still, it whispers against their ear every night that they cannot sleep –

_“You’re not alone, I’m here.”_

_“I’ve heard you weep, often, all the time. Won’t you tell me?”_

_“Won’t you let me help you?”_

Over and over again, that voice whispers against their earlobe, a tongue peeking out for but a second to taste only to retreat immediately. Langa turns over, stares over their shoulder, and still there is nothing there. There is a creature in their room, and yet they do not know what to do with it just yet.

Not just yet.

* * *

Another sleepless night plagues Langa – eyes wide and staring at the wall in the pure dark, yet they know they are not alone. They are never, _ever_ alone, not with the creature that lurks in the dark. Sometimes, lately, lately sometimes, a mask hovers close to their face when the creature cannot tell the pattern of Langa’s breathing – kept deliberately slow as to confuse, befuddle. The mask hovers closer, and a hand larger than Langa’s face will stroke silver hair, rub across puffed up cheeks, and trace over dried tear stains.

It bends down and kisses their cheek, the back of their head. Langa breathes slowly, tries not to react too much to the affection of this creature in their room. It whispers, always –

_So lovely, beautiful_

_You are lovely lovely lovely lovely_

_My beloved, my beloved, how gentle you are how wondrous_

_So beautiful_

_I’ve been waiting_

_Waiting_

_Waiting_

Langa fights back a tremble every time, up until the sun comes up and the creature retreats into its darkness, leaving them alone and terrified.

_How wondrous will you look, heavy with seed_

* * *

They get used to the kisses, soon. Its lips leave a fiery trail everywhere it touches, burning as bright as the sun during the worst of Canada’s summers – they get used to the hushed whispers, the declarations of love. Without them, the voice, the mask which presses kisses against their back, their feet, their cheeks and neck, Langa finds that they cannot fall asleep anymore.

The creature notices, of course it does. Its mask appears more often within Langa’s vision, attached to a body – tall and strong. It creeps around their bed, until finally it joins them in it when they stare at it long enough. Lips move hot and curious along their skin, hands push their shirt up, fingertips stroke across their skin.

“Who are you?” Langa finally says and the creature – it stops, waits, and then takes in a deep, intoxicated breath in, mask buried into the interconnected area of neck and shoulder. It sniffs and heaves and takes in their scent, their smell – slobbering tongue marks them further, teeth sink in.

An answer takes forever to come out –

 _“I am yours.”_ It says, _“I am yours, I have always, always been yours. I’ve been waiting for you, for so long. For so, so long. I was promised. I was promised you.”_ It sinks its teeth in deeper – _“you don’t need my name.”_

Langa swallows around the lump in their throat, feels their esophagus grow dry. Sandpaper walls rub against each other and clench up and they will not be surprised if blood drips down into their stomach. “I need something too call you by,” Langa says eventually, voice trying to catch up to the bravery they wish to portray, “I need a name.”

It pauses, then presses more kisses into their skin. Fingers carve symbol with their overwhelming heat and Langa feels further and further like cattle ready to be seared with molten metal. _“Adam,”_ it breathes, its breath so heavy and desperate, wanting, hungry, and even Langa can tell that it lies, _“and you’re mine, my sweetest, I was promised you, so long ago.”_

“What do you mean?” Langa asks, but this time the creature does not answer. Brief blues take over their vision, and it takes them too long to realise that it is hair which obscures them. They breathe in and out deeply, trying to quell the panic as the silence drags on. It – the spirit, the thing, the creature – wraps around them even further, burying them in their large body.

Hands settle upon their chest, beneath their shirt, and the breathing goes heavier, bordering on that of hysteria. _“I love you,”_ it says, _“I love you. I love you. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.”_

They are gone the next morning, window wide, wide open. It is warm in Okinawa and their mother’s shrill screams pierces through a calm, serene air.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write a messed up fic with somnophilia.
> 
> This happened instead.
> 
> I would love to know your thoughts on this.


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